


Waiting

by a_nonny_moose



Category: Darkine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-17 23:00:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11278545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_nonny_moose/pseuds/a_nonny_moose
Summary: Christine and Michael are gone, and the Darks are waiting, waiting too long.





	Waiting

The clock ticked a bit too loudly in the total silence. Three sets of eyes flicked anxiously up at it every few seconds, as though trying to speed it up.  
Michael and Christine had left a half hour ago, wings tucked hurriedly beneath loose jackets. Someone in trouble, they said. We’ll be back soon, they said.  
Michael had given Ciarán a rough hug before he left, telling him not to worry.  
Christine had given Dubhán a peck on the cheek, a kiss on Dark’s lips, shushing their fears.  
Sasha whined, thumping her tail. They’d been in too much of a hurry to even pat her goodbye.  
Dubhán, lying against Ciarán’s chest, looked up to hush her. He tapped his hand against a jean-clad thigh, and she padded over. Laying next to him, she seemed to be watching the clock, too.  
Ellie was flitting around upstairs: Ciarán saw no use in getting her to rest. He was running his fingers through Dubhán’s hair, thoughtful.  
Dark sat across from them on the floor, toying with Ebony’s tail as she slept. Every so often, he twitched to look at the clock.  
Everyone was silent.  
The clock ticked over to mark forty minutes gone by. Dark broke the silence. “They should be there, now.”  
He was calculating it in his head; the only place Michael and Christine would go like this was a little more than forty minutes away. With Christine driving, it’d take about five minutes less.  
Dubhán looked up to catch his eye. They nodded to each other, knowing what they were waiting for.  
Ciarán’s forehead creased in worry. "Will I be able to feel it?“  
Dubhán looked up at him thoughtfully. “Probably, this time. Yeah.”  
Ciarán’s face relaxed into an unreadable expression. “Hmmph,” he finally muttered.

Dark looked up, eyes wide. Ebony started and jumped out of his lap.  
"Is it…” Ciarán stopped, feeling Dubhán go stiff.  
“Here,” Dubhán whispered, moving Ciarán’s hand. He pressed Ciarán’s hand to his own ribcage.  
Ciarán’s eyes widened. He felt the skin going hot, even through Dubhán’s shirt. “Is that where—”  
“I think it’s just a bruise,” Dark whispered, talking mostly to himself. “She got hit a bit hard, that’s all…”  
Ciarán faded into horrified silence. This was Michael’s first outing since their bond had been established. This was the first time that Ciarán would feel what was happening to him, physically.  
“You okay?” He rubbed his fingers over the spot Dubhán had shown him.  
“Yeah, it’s just a sting. It’s been worse.”  
Dark locked eyes with Dubhán for a moment. They both knew what was coming.  
Ciarán reached out for his cup of coffee, on the floor next to Sasha. Halfway there, his arm spasmed.  
He froze. “Ow— Is that bad?”  
Dubhán was already sitting up, feeling at his arm. “Upper arm, about three inches across—” he looked at Dark, “—pretty deep. Feels like a burn.”  
Ciarán sat in pale-faced silence, looking from one brother to the other.  
“It’s okay, Ted,” Dubhán muttered unconvincingly, leaning back into his chest. “He can take more than that.”  
He nodded quickly, quietly, and took a slow sip of his coffee.  
It was going to be a long night.  
Small bruises came through the next hour. Ciarán jumped at every one, spilling coffee over Sasha at one point. “It’s not that bad,” he reassured Dubhán, as he mopped the coffee from her back. Sasha looked at him, sulking. “Just surprising, that’s all.”  
Dark flinched silently at some of the bigger hits, cringing for Christine. Dubhán, for the most part, rested quietly in Ciarán’s lap, not wanting to make his worry valid by expressing it out loud. His frame grew tenser with every hit.  
About an hour later, something bigger than a bruise came though.  
Dark’s eyes went wide, and he gasped as though he’d been punched in the gut. Dubhán jumped, almost falling off the couch.  
“Ow,” he gasped, eyes watering. He squeezed Ciarán’s wavering hand reassuringly, and looked at Dark.  
Dark looked horrified. “What the hell was that?”  
“A slam, I think.”  
Dark rubbed a hand over Ebony’s head, quieting her. He was silent, but the worry in his eyes was clear.  
Ciarán looked from brother to brother, frightened by their silence.  
Dubhán’s breathing slowed to a halfway normal pace, and he settled back into Ciarán. He ran a thumb over their hands. “‘S okay. They’re okay.”  
From upstairs came a quiet, trembling chirp, as though Ellie could sense the tension.  
Dark whistled back at her, cracking a lopsided smile.  
Ciarán gasped.  
Dubhán laughed as Ellie started to imitate Dark’s tune, singing from her rafters.  
Ciarán’s entire body stiffened, and he sat up too quickly, shoving Dubhán up and off.  
Dubhán broke off mid-laugh. “Wha— Ciarán?”  
Ciarán’s face was near white; he’d always been the palest of the three, but this was ghostly. He grabbed his thigh, a long hiss coming from between his teeth.  
Dubhán put his hands over Ciarán’s, Dark anxiously searching their faces.  
“Broken, bleeding.”  
Sasha started to howl.

Dark was pacing when it happened.  
Dubhán was sitting with Ciarán in the kitchen, trying to stop the unfamiliar, stinging pains.  
As Dark turned for another lap around the living room, his arm twinged. Like a fire, the sting grew up his arm, and Dark heard Dubhán gasp from the next room.  
Hairline fracture, if not worse. Dark didn’t need Dubhán’s whispered confirmation.  
One arm clutching his bicep, Dark turned to check the clock. 1:24am. They’d been gone for two and a half hours.  
He was about to go into the kitchen to reassure the pair when it happened again.  
His wrist, growing hotter before fading into a dull throb. A sprain, at the least.  
What had Christine and Michael gotten themselves into?

Dubhán breathed out, hard, trying to clear the black spots from his vision. The last wave of pain had cut off abruptly, replaced by a strange, light tingling. Ciarán raised his head. “What does that mean?” He looked scared, holding his leg.  
“They’re healing.” A wave of relief broke over Dubhán. “They’re finished with— whatever that was.”  
“They’re on their way back, or they should be.” Dark stood in the doorway, grinning, light-headed.  
2:13am.  
Sasha, outside, began to bark. She was silenced after a moment by a warm, slightly strained voice— Christine.  
Dubhán stood to open the door, and in they came.  
Christine, one arm cradled to her side, half-supported Michael, one jean leg torn and bloody. Sasha trotted in after them, looking concerned.  
“I can get it myself—”  
“No, you can’t.” She sounded fed up with his protests, as though they’d been made before. “You collapsed before we got to the car, and you lost too much blood before we healed you. You could barely drive. You can not get it yourself.”  
Michael was sullenly silent, allowing Dark to get him the rest of the way to the couch. With a sigh, Michael settled next to Ciarán. “Hey.”  
Ciarán looked at him silently, searching his face.  
“You okay?”  
Wordlessly, Ciarán leaned into him for a hug. Michael hugged him for a long moment.  
“How’s your leg?” Both of them spoke the words almost simultaneously.  
Michael grinned tiredly. “Just sore, now. Lost some blood before we could get it patched.” He looked at Ciarán searchingly. “You?”  
“Don’t ever fucking do that again.” Ciarán’s words were again muffled by Michael’s shirt.  
He laughed quietly. “Can’t be helped. But I’ll be safer. Less careless,” he added, in a whisper.  
Sitting up, Michael shrugged off his jacket and stretched out his wings. Ciarán looked at the edges. Burnt, in line with his shoulder.  
Frowning, Ciarán glared at him. “You’re an idiot.”  
“I know,” Michael said tiredly.  
Ebony clambered into Michael’s lap, demanding to be rubbed.  
They sat in amicable silence.

“Who? Why?”  
Christine hadn’t sat down before Dark had started cross-examining her.  
“A couple tough guys on the edge of town. Looking for trouble. No big.”  
“Of course it’s ‘a big’!”  
Christine rolled her eyes, rubbed her wrist. “Nah.”  
“And what happened to your arm?” Dark had tugged the jacket off of her, and was staring at her arm as though it had turned orange.  
“Some guy punched it. I punched him in the jaw, knocked him ten feet, sprained my wrist. Healed it literally thirty seconds after.” Christine laughed bitterly at Dark’s incredulous expression. “Like I said, no. Big. Deal.”  
“Shut up,” he growled, pulling her into a hug.  
Dubhán waited until Dark had given Christine a lingering kiss and had pulled her down onto the couch.  
“Hey,” he said, scooting closer. “You okay?”  
“Yeah, just tired. Are you?”  
Dubhán hesitated. “Just worried about you,” he finally muttered to the ground.  
“Dubhán,” Christine started. “Look at me.” She leaned away from Dark, taking Dubhán’s hand in two of hers. “I’m okay. Michael’s okay. We’re home safe. This had to get done, but it’s a once-in-a-blue-moon-type thing, okay?”  
Dubhán nodded.  
“C’mere.” Christine scooped him into a hug. She could vaguely hear him blow his nose into her shoulder, but that was okay.  
Everything was okay.


End file.
